


1942 & Beyond

by Aeoin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Harry is just done, M/M, Mandrakes make surprisingly good therapists, Master of Death Harry Potter, Older Harry, Tom totally wants senpai to notice him, WWII references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-30 00:22:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10865184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeoin/pseuds/Aeoin
Summary: The year is 1942, and Hadrian Peverell has enrolled in Hogwarts for his final year.Two wars wage outside the halls of Hogwarts: one in the muggle world, and one in the magical world. Yet Hadrian's purpose in 1942 is a different kind of war altogether - that between the past and the future.The fate of history hangs in the balance, and Hadrian holds the scales. His actions will determine the preservation of the past, or the salvation of the future, and time is running out....which, in hindsight, should make him reconsider his spending too much of it with Tom Riddle, of all people.





	1. Log 1

**FIRST ENTRY**

09.01.42

* * *

 

The year is 1942, and World War II wages on in full swing. Japan continues to advance into Southeast Asia and US military strongholds in the Philippines collapses, Mahatma Gandhi is arrested, Brazil declares war against Axis countries, and the world descends evermore into chaos.

Remaining virtually untouched by the hulking menace of guns, bombs, and foreign occupation, a different world altogether faces another kind of war in the form of the Dark Lord Gellert Grindelwald. As the countries of Magical Europe falls one by one to the power of the Dark Lord and his forces, Magical Britain remains the last safe haven in the continent, and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry stays steadfast in its offer of protection to its students: a solid safe haven amidst the war - both inside and outside the magical world.

Yet an altogether curious series of events will occur this year within Hogwarts. A different kind of war will begin. As the muggle world is torn between the Axis and the Allied countries, and as the divide between Dark and Light widens further in the magical world, another kind of war in Hogwarts will be waged altogether: one between the past and the future. A war that will alter the course of history for both worlds forever.

September the first, 1942. Germany attacks Stalingrad. Germany captures the Black Sea port of Anapa. The German submarine U-756 is sunk by Canada. Shigenori Togo resigns as the Japanese Foreign Minister. Ministero della Magia falls in Magical Italy. The Shooting Star 7 is released by Bristles Co. And Hadrian Peverell begins his first day in Hogwarts, enrolling in his 7th year.

* * *

09.01.42

* * *

When Deputy Headmaster Albus Dumbledore lifted the Sorting Hat off the last first year to be sorted, he turned his gaze to the Headmaster and nodded. Professor Dumbledore remained in his place next to the stool with the Sorting Hat held aloft.

Headmaster Armando Dippet rose from his chair, and the great hall quieted. The older students looked up at him with bored indifference, more eager to eat than hear the Headmaster's speech.

Instead of his usual start-of-term speech, however, Headmaster Dippet raised his right hand and gestured to the doors next to the head table, where an older student with the most peculiarly colored hair was standing.

"This year we have a new addition to the ranks of the 7th years. Please give a warm welcome to Hadrian Peverell."

A low susurrus erupted among the students as they speculated about the unprecedented transfer. Those more conscious about bloodlines and heritage wondered if they'd heard the last name correctly. Surely they had heard wrong. The Peverell line had been devoured, married into other Wizarding families.

Eyes trained on the young man as he headed for the stool, enraptured, taking in his ethereal features. At last, when Professor Dumbledore lowered the Sorting Hat atop impossibly white hair, the hall quieted. Even from a distance, the students would swear that they'd never seen eyes more green than Hadrian Peverell's.

It seemed as if the great hall held its breath as the Hat debated its newest quandary. Then, with a great below, it yelled: "SLYTHERIN!"

A smattering of applause erupted from the table decked in green and silver, the students seated there, however, wore barely disguised looks of confusion. They glanced at each other as the new transfer student handed the Sorting Hat back to Professor Dumbledore and made his way to the table. He sat, unselfconscious, next to the youngest Slytherins, sending the new batch of little first years a disarming, breezy smile. The first years sent him a dazed look back, their lips twitching upwards unconsciously. The rest of those seated at the table stared inconspicuously at their newest addition, wondering if what they heard was true. Curiosity brewed among the higher years, and they itched to ask him questions.

"Welcome, students, new and old, to another year at Hogwarts!" said Headmaster Dippet, his aged voice barely heard in the cavernous great hall, "Another year of magic begins!"

In his seat at the Slytherin table, Hadrian Peverell smiled indulgently and laced his fingers together, his left hand fiddling with the pitch black Peverell ring on his right middle finger. Another year of magic, indeed, he thought with a wary glint in his eyes. Glancing surreptitiously along the Slytherin table and meeting the eyes of those who were blatantly staring at him, he eventually caught sight of the unmistakable visage of a 15-year-old Tom Riddle, who will one day grow to be the darkest wizard of all time. His gaze continued, until he had scoped out all the Slytherin students.

Hadrian returned his gaze to the headmaster and shifted his focus inwards, going over his plans. It would be a huge undertaking, and he would need all of his wits about him. He had one year to change the course of history. No, perhaps even less. He had one school year to bring about the changes he desired. That would be 270 days, give or take a few.

The fate of the world depends on it.

Hadrian Peverell, previously known as Harry Potter, grinned. No pressure, right?

* * *

09.01.42

**END LOG**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> I'm not a history buff, so dates and events in history may be inaccurate. Just make sure to take them with a grain of salt, as they were written down as a part of the writing style. Also, I apologize for my tenses. I feel like there's still a lot of room for improvement, so I hope you all bear with me. 
> 
> This will be a very light TM/HP fanfiction. There won't be anything sexually graphic at all. I apologize if shonen-ai isn't your cup of tea, but I just really adore the pairing. 
> 
> This fanfiction is posted on both FanFiction.Net and ArchiveofOurOwn.Org. 
> 
> If you enjoyed reading this first chapter, please do drop a review and tell me what you think! Your words mean a lot, and will greatly encourage me to write. 
> 
> See you on my next update!


	2. Log 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey... stuff.

**SECOND ENTRY**

09.02.42

* * *

 

**September the second, 1942**. The 4 th British Armored Brigade destroy 57 German supply trucks during the Battle of Alam el Halfa in Egypt. German submarine U-222 sinks in a training accident. Japanese submarines sink British SS Gazcon; there are 12 reported casualties. Karlsruhe, Germany, is bombed; 73 civilians are reported dead. Klaüs Yttfreid and more of Gellert Grindelwald's allies infiltrate Magical Ethiopia. The Dark Lord's forces advance into Magical Africa. Bernardo Estevan, High Magus of the Dark Army, and a member of the Dark Lord Grindelwald's Inner Circle, is poisoned in Magical Spain. Bertie Bott's Every-flavored Beans introduces 'Broom Polish’ as a new flavor. Hadrian Peverell begins his first day in Hogwarts, and experiences his first two episodes of chrono-instability.

 

* * *

09.02.42

* * *

 

 Harry had just seated himself for breakfast when the world stopped making sense.

He sat, perfectly still, as he waited for the nauseating combination of vertigo and an unbearable sense of wrongness to pass. Harry gritted his teeth and bore his first episode of chrono-displacement. He'd been oriented before he arrived, that any of his actions could cause a change in time, and would trigger these attacks as the time stream continuously tries to erase him from history.

Apparently, where he sat for breakfast had triggered a change. If he thought too much about it, the concept of causing an alteration in time with such an insignificant decision was frightening. Right now, he was experiencing what it was like to exist in limbo, in a state of non-being. The time stream was shifting, trying to stabilize itself. He’d just have to bear with it.

Finally, he was jostled out of his sorry state by a familiar voice:

"Mr. Hadrian Peverell!" greeted Horace Slughorn. Harry felt a hearty pat on his shoulder, bringing him back to awareness. He turned in his seat to look at a much younger Professor Slughorn. 

All of a sudden, the colors returned. Sound rushed around him. Time dragged on. It was like someone had pressed 'play' on a paused movie, and only Harry was aware that it had paused at all. 

Harry tried to smile at the solid form of his one-time Potions professor, disoriented from the oddness of being chrono-displaced. It seemed good old Professor Slughorn noticed his discomfort, and withheld the sheet of paper that he was just about to hand to Harry. 

Around him, Harry could feel the stares of his fellow 7th years, no doubt wondering why he had just been staring at his breakfast for the past several minutes. At least, he prayed it was only that short. Harry dearly hoped the next "episodes" wouldn't happen in such a public place. Chrono-displacement was disorienting enough without him having to deal with curious onlookers. 

"Is everything all right, my good lad?" Professor Slughorn asked, his perpetual smile drooping.

Harry nodded, "Everything's fine, Professor. I was just... erm. This place is... rather crowded."

"Of course! Of course," Slughorn exclaimed, cheeks lifting as he gave Harry a sympathetic grin, "You must be transitioning still, Mr. Peverell! I imagine that crowds like these can be shocking to a previously _homeschooled_ student. I hope you slept well?"

Harry grinned despite himself. It was good to see the old Slug. The last time Harry had spoken to Slughorn was a good century or two ago, right before the Potions Master had died of old age. "I did, yes. I have my own room in the dorms, thankfully, so I had a quiet night to myself. Erm, you have something for me, Professor?"

"Ah! Of course. Here you go, my good lad," Slughorn said, extending the piece of parchment he was holding. Harry took it and read his schedule.

"9 NEWT classes," Slughorn chuckled, "Quite ambitious, I must say! _Quite_ ambitious."

Harry stifled another fond smile, even as he felt his fellow Slytherins' intrigue rise. Slughorn _had_ always been dramatic. Harry decided that he sort of missed him.

"Yes," Harry said, tucking his schedule in his satchel, "I couldn't possibly pass up the chance to learn Alchemy. It was very lucky that there were enough students interested in opening the class."

Slughorn blinked, "Pass up... Of course, lad. Well. Don't let me keep you from your breakfast!"

Harry turned to face his plate as Slughorn walked away, mumbling to himself. He wondered if he had said something odd. Perhaps he had mentioned a slang term that had puzzled the 1940's Slughorn?

"I believe we'll be classmates, then," said a voice to his left, "In Alchemy, that is."

Harry glanced at the person who had just spoken to him, and recognized one of the Slytherin 7th year prefects from the night before.

"Looks like it, yeah," Harry replied with a sheepish smile, "Sorry, I didn't quite catch your name."

"Beatrice," said the diminutive brunette, "Beatrice Rowle, of the Noble House of Rowle." She held out her hand expectantly. 

Harry lightly kissed her knuckles, inwardly amused at Pureblood customs which he hadn't practiced in more than a century. "Hadrian Peverell, of the Sacred, Most Ancient, and Noble House of Peverell. Charmed."

"So it's true," said Beatrice, her doe brown eyes gleaming behind her glasses, "You're a Peverell. Everyone thinks that the line had married into other families."

Harry released her small hand and smiled impishly, cognizant of those listening, "Cadmus Peverell left an heir."

Beatrice glanced, lightning quick, at the Peverell ring on his hand. Her eyes widened, "Fascinating."

"Well, go on then! Tell us all about it!" said the student seated across him.

"Quiet, Felix!" With a slight smack, the identical boy next to Felix derailed him from his excitement, "Show some respect!" 

Twins, Harry noted. Twins were rare in the muggle world, but not in the magical one. And while the muggles could birth triplets or more, having more than two at a time in the magical world was unheard of. The pair in front of him looked completely identical: from their wavy head of yellow blonde hair, their wide, sky blue eyes, their straight noses, round cheeks, down to their softly defined chins. 

"I'm sorry about him, truly," the other twin apologized, "He's normally quite polite!"

Beatrice sighed next to him, "Forgive them, Peverell. It's the _other_ half of their blood, I'm sure."

Harry blinked, nonplussed by the casual observation. There was no malice in Beatrice's words - she appeared completely oblivious to her prejudice. He hurried to assure the pair, "It's all right. I don't see why you had to apologize in the first place. Hadrian Peverell, nice to meet you."

"It's an honor," said the other twin. Felix nodded jovially next to him.

"My name is Ferren Fortsworth, of the House of Fortsworth, and this is my twin Felix."

"But it's not a House anymore, isn't it?" drawled the redhead next to Felix. Droopy dark eyes belied the sharp gleam of intelligence in them. "The line of the House of Fortsworth is broken now. You'll have to start again," with a saucy smirk, he dropped a heavy hand on Felix's crown and patted it.

Scowling, Ferren brushed off the offending limb on his twin's head and addressed Harry, "My father's blood remains pure to the 7th generation. As long as he remains the head of the family, our House remains."

Harry tried to return Ferren’s reassuring grin, inwardly alarmed at this era’s obsession with blood purity. While he had been oriented that the prejudice of this era dug a little deeper compared to Harry’s own time, he had no idea that the extent of blood bias was this prevalent. It was, quite frankly, alarming how these 17-year-olds casually flaunted their blood status as if there was nothing wrong with it.

"Whatever, Fern," shrugged the redhead. He shifted his gaze to Harry and offered a nonchalant salute, "Everard Rosier, of the Ancient and Noble House of Rosier. Call me Ever. And spare me the formalities Peverell; all of the goddamned castle knows who you are." With a shrug, Everard returned to his breakfast. 

Harry nodded, "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Anyway," Beatrice said, sending a brief, distasteful glance at Everard's untied Slytherin tie, "What's your first class Peverell? Maybe one of us can escort you there. Hogwarts can be disorienting for someone who's not used to her." Turning to address Everard, Beatrice huffed and gave him a pointed glare, "And tie that disgraceful piece of fabric properly, Rosier. It's the first day of class, and you look like you've given up on proper attire already."

Everard's mouth twitched upwards slightly, before he leaned against his palm in a bored affectation, "Come now, Tricy. 7th year will be tough enough without you _nagging_ me about my tie."

"Do _not_ call me Tricy. And I said tie it, Rosier, or I'll dock points!"

Everard smirked challengingly at her, "You wouldn't dare. Class hasn't even started yet. Slytherin will be in the red."

"10 points from Slytherin for indecent attire," said Beatrice with a vindictive smirk. Standing, she smoothed down her long skirt before addressing Harry, "Come on, Mr. Peverell. I'll lead you to your first class."

Harry observed this all with good humor, noting how unconcerned Ever was with the docked points. His eyes, glittering with amusement, disproved his unimpressed expression. “See you in class, Tricy!”

“Clean up your act, Rosier!” said Beatrice as she stomped off. Harry stood, frowned at his untouched plate, before smiling politely at his new acquaintances, “It was a pleasure to meet you all, gentlemen. See you in class.”

“Bye Hadrian!” piped Felix. Ferren gave his twin a disapproving stare before he added, “See you, Peverell.”

With a few quick strides, he caught up to Beatrice, whose shorter legs strode twice as hard to match her pace with Harry’s. It wasn’t as blatantly obvious when she was sitting down, but Beatrice truly was petite. Even with his average height she only reached his chest. Beatrice had a wild mane of mahogany brown hair that seemed to add an inch or two to her, still there was no denying that she was tiny.

“That Rosier can be a real clown sometimes,” she grumbled. Beatrice pushed her glasses against the bridge of her nose in irritation. “He _used_ to be very reserved, but lately he’s been showing his true colors.”

“Oh?” Harry said, hiding his amusement. It was quite obvious to him that Everard liked Beatrice, but hey – he’s already more than 300 years old, so maybe his sense for these type of things was a little skewed.

“Forget that baboon,” Beatrice said as she led them to the grounds, “Professor Slughorn mentioned that you had nine NEWT-level classes. Care of Magical Creatures is one of them, I hope?”

“It is, yes.”

“Very good,” she said, smiling guiltily, “Otherwise I’d have brought you outside the castle only to bring you back in. Care classes are usually held on the grounds, you see, near the Forbidden Forest. And I’m sure I _don’t_ have to explain why the forest is called _Forbidden_ , Mr. Peverell?”

Harry laughed, “No, ma’am.”

“Excellent. Then we _are_ in agreement, good sir.”

He could see why Ever liked this girl. She had spunk. “Call me Harry, Ms. Rowle. Peverell was my ancestor.”

“That’s quite a leap from Hadrian, isn’t it?” Beatrice asked, showing hesitancy.

Harry suspected it was another etiquette thing. He waved it off, “Hadrian is what my guardian calls me when he’s mad at me. My friends call me Harry.”

“Very well then, Harry,” she said, looking pleased, “Since we’re friends. Call me Tricy.”

They walked in silence after that, and Harry left her to her thoughts, glad to get the chance to observe Hogwarts. It would be his first time to walk these grounds in centuries, so he relished the opportunity.

The first thing that struck him was the potency of magic in the air. Four centuries later, Hogwarts would be nothing but a sorry pile of stone, as magic grew thinner. Magical schools had to relocate to the remotest areas of highland China, underground in Africa, or in the Unplottable Isles in the Philippines and Indonesia. Durmstrang would be the last of the wizarding schools in Europe to remain.

Harry breathed in, feeling his lungs fill with air and the sweet scent of magic. The sky was a perfect shade of periwinkle blue today, and the air was just turning chilly. It was the threshold of autumn, so the leaves from the forest in the distance were still green.

Harry felt blessed to be able to experience all of this again – Hogwarts in all of her glory, in a time where magic still thrived on her grounds.

He reached inside the pocket of his robes and lightly brushed the leather edge of the notebook inside. It was one of the few magical possessions he had been allowed to bring – a stark, written reminder of his purpose here: brief logs of what had already happened today as researched in newspapers during the future.

Dangerous, yes. Extremely so. If discovered, the notebook could damn his presence here, yet it was also an anchor for Harry. The logs written down would serve as a comparison to the 1942 that had passed and the 1942 that Harry was trying to change: the now – this past that was now his present.

Harry would know that his existence here was affecting things when the logged events in the notebook was no longer accurate. It would be Harry’s marker, his point of divergence. Only then would he know that he was things were changing.

Until then, only hope drove him forward.

“We’re here,” announced Tricy, dragging him out of his thoughts. “Welcome to Care of Magical Creatures.”

They’d arrived at the edge of the forest, and Harry could spot the groundkeeper’s hut a few ways away. Maybe it was the distance, but Harry swore that the hut looked smaller. It was distinctly human-sized, and not half-giant sized. With a soft smile, Harry remembered that Hagrid was still a student.

Maybe Harry could help ensure that he stayed one.

“You look especially lovely in the early morning sunlight, Tricy,” said Everard from behind them. He’d caught up pretty quickly.

Beatrice scowled, “It’s Rowle to you, Rosier.” Spotting his tie, knotted haphazardly at the base of his throat, Beatrice’s scowl furrowed deeper, “And don’t you know how to groom yourself properly! Honestly, Rosier!”

“Ignore the bum, Tricy,” spoke a soft, airy, unfamiliar, feminine voice. Harry turned and saw two other 7th year Slytherin students meandering toward them. Both of them were girls, and looked as different from each other as night and day. The one who had spoken had pale skin, and long, dirty blonde hair that framed a tiny face. The other girl was darkly tanned, with jet black hair, and an attractive, heart-shaped face.

“Good morning, Lune, Cat,” greeted Beatrice dryly, “I see you’ve managed to drag yourselves out of bed at last.”

“Adjusting is always a challenge. Always,” said the blonde. Oddly enough, she reminded Harry of an achingly young Luna Lovegood appearance-wise. Both were pale, with dirty-blonde hair. Yet while Luna wore a constantly vacant expression, lost as she was in her thoughts, this girl sported a disturbingly blank façade.

“Ah, Lunaria,” Everard said, addressing the blonde, “I had hoped you wouldn’t be coming back this year.”

“He gains a great deal who loses a vain hope,” said Lunaria, her voice soft and whispery. It was peculiar, how she managed to speak such subtly cutting words while maintaining her emotionlessness.

Everard scowled at the robotic blonde as more 7th year Slytherins trickled in the clearing.

Beatrice was biting back a smile, “Enough of your banter. Harry, meet my friends Lunaria Nightingale, of the House of Nightingale, and Catalina Ventic, of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Ventic. Lune, Cat, this is Hadrian Peverell – I’m sure you’ve both heard of him.”

Hadrian kissed the back of both girls’ right hands.

The blonde-haired girl, Lunaria, hummed in greeting, her countenance blank. Harry was beginning to suspect her face was frozen that way. He wondered if she was one of Luna’s great-grandparents. Despite the vast difference in personality, she _did_ remind him of his old friend.

Catalina blushed prettily when Harry reached to place a kiss on her knuckles, her cheeks turning rosy red. She spoke with an accent, “It is nice to meet you,” she said.

“It looks like everyone’s here,” Beatrice commented, looking around the clearing.

Harry noticed that there were 19 of them all in all, and all of them were Slytherins. Did all the Slytherins have Care of Magical Creatures? This was a very high turnout. He decided to ask about it.

“Did all the Slytherin 7th years enroll for this class? Oh no, no, no,” said Catalina, “This is the status quo for most NEWT classes.”

He was taken aback, “Then, how many Slytherin 7th years are there?” he asked.

“Uhm,” mumbled Catalina, her dark brows furrowing as she thought, “There are 36 of us, I believe. 37 now that you have joined us.”

“That’s…” he stammered, floored. That was almost 4 times the number of students compared to his own time! “That’s a lot of students,” Harry said, “Is it like this for every year, in every house?”

“I believe there are 50 3rd year Hufflepuffs this year,” Beatrice mentioned, wrinkling her nose slightly as she adjusting the strap of the satchel on her shoulder.

Harry blinked, “Oh.”

“Don’t worry about it, Peverell,” Ever said, putting his leather bag on the ground and stretching his shoulders back, “You’ll get used to it.”

“I forgot that you were homeschooled,” Beatrice said, “This many number of people must be quite overwhelming for you.”

She wasn’t completely wrong, mused Harry. While such a large number of students in Hogwarts was mind-boggling, what Harry was really thinking about was why there were so many, and what the reason was for the drastic diminishing of enrollees in the following decades. He supposed it was the accumulative result of two back to back wizarding wars. The wizarding population never seemed to recover after Grindelwald’s slaughter, and was only made worse by Voldemort’s massacre.

“It’s 8:37,” murmured Beatrice after casting a quick tempus, “Professor Kettleburn is late. Tsk.” From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Everard chuckle.

“Erm,” Harry said, looking around, “Where are we supposed to sit?” His memory may be a bit fuzzy after a few centuries, but Hagrid provided his students with logs to sit on in his classes, at least.

“There are no seats for this class, nor is there a classroom for that matter,” said Beatrice, crossing her arms, “I know. Glamorous, isn’t it? Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the premier wizarding school in Great Britain, at its finest. It makes you wonder where your 700 galleon tuition fee goes.”

“Well I know where your money’s _not_ going to, Miss Rowle,” said a cheerful voice from behind them. Beatrice jumped a bit and whirled around. Harry followed suit, spotting their Care of Magical Creatures professor – looking very young, and with more of his limbs than what Harry was used to.

“To my leg prosthetic, that’s where your money’s not going!” with a booming laugh, the professor slammed his beefy hand down on Beatrice’s shoulder. She winced.

She sent Harry a grimace.

“Well, who do we have here?” Kettleburn exclaimed, noticing Harry, his stare seemed drawn to his snow white hair. “You’re the new transfer, right, lad?”

“Erm, right sir,” Harry said, “I’m Hadrian Peverell – “

“By Morgana’s soggy knickers, we have ourselves a Sacred in our class! Well, show us your mettle then, Peverell! Pop quiz! How do you safely harvest a Joberknoll’s feathers?”

Harry concealed a sigh. This era’s obsession with blood purity was starting to grate on his nerves. He hoped that everyone would get over themselves soon.

Belatedly, he wondered if Tom Riddle’s environment was what drove him to become Lord Voldemort, before he shook the random thought away and answered Professor Kettleburn’s rapid-fire questions.

 

* * *

09.02.42

* * *

 

“Professor Kettleburn was very impressed with you,” Catalina remarked after Care of Magical Creatures. Harry was once again walking with Beatrice to his next class, with Catalina next to her, and Lunaria and Everard trailing behind them. They were on their way to the third floor for Charms.

Everard yawned, “Impressed? He might as well have feasted on Peverell’s entrails – he picked his brain for most of the class!”

Beatrice was fuming, “I wouldn’t have minded his blatant favoritism so much if Professor Kettleburn hadn’t made us _late_ for _Charms_!”

All of a sudden, someone slammed into him. Harry was knocked aside and hit the wall with a heavy thud.

And the world stopped making sense. Harry didn’t know where or when he was. Time stretched into infinity. His comprehension of sound and color was replaced by the agonizing knowledge that he could exist in this plane of nothingness forever. Vertigo. Dizziness. The all-encompassing feeling of _wrongness_.

_“Remember, Harry, that chrono-displacement will happen to you because **something** has changed. Every single thing you do in the past will change things, no matter how fucking stupid this action may be. Say you ate the last piece of cake for dinner. Good for you, mate. But maybe a random bloke was supposed to eat that extra piece of cake for dessert, **and** he was supposed to have indigestion that night, and **then** he would have missed his potions class tomorrow. Sounds inconsequential, right? So instead he **doesn’t** eat the cake, and he **does** get to attend the potions class. Turns out the lesson’s about Amortentia. With me so far? Then this dame he’s had an eye on **accidentally** lets it slip that she likes him back. Boom. They hook up, get married, have kids – **and all of this happened because you had a fucking piece of cake.”**_

Then he felt his satchel get ripped from his shoulder, his belongings falling on the floor. Sight and sound returned. Time rushed on. Someone had once again pressed play in a cosmic movie only he knew had been paused.

“Oh! Geez, I am terribly sorry,” said the one who had bumped into him.

It took him two seconds longer than he would have to recognize Tom Riddle. He looked genuinely apologetic, and a rueful little smile was playing at the edge of his lips.

It was very, very odd – yet it appeared natural on Tom Riddle’s face. And while Harry had expected Tom Riddle to be charming (from his memories of Slughorn’s account of him), he was wholly unprepared for how _genuine_ he was. If Harry didn’t know any better, he would have believed that Tom Riddle – _the Darkest Wizard of his time! –_ was _genuinely_ sorry.

From the faded memories he had of Voldemort’s Horcrux – the one he met in the Chamber of Secrets, Harry could vaguely recall that the young, teen-aged Dark Lord was handsome. From his brief glance of him in the great hall during the welcoming feast, he had solidified this observation.

Up close? Tom Riddle may as well have been carved by a Master artisan.

He was speaking now, repeating his apologies: “Really – sorry about that…” deep blue eyes widened in recognition, “Wait – aren’t you that new transfer student, Hadrian Peverell?”

Red bloomed across his cheeks in embarrassment. Harry repressed his gob-smacked expression with an iron will as he observed a blushing Tom Riddle. He looked _embarrassed._

_Huh_ , Harry thought, _he looks good with his nose on. Figures._

He had _not_ been oriented on how to deal with this – Tom Riddle, in the flesh.

 

* * *

09.02.42

**LOG PAUSED**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  A/N: 
> 
> Some gratuitous Dr Who references. 
> 
> Thank you very much to everyone who dropped a kudos, and most especially to those who left a comment. I adore all of your reviews! They bring me great delight, and are a source of encouragement for me, so please continue to tell me what you think. Your opinions matter very much to me.
> 
> A little longer for this chapter, as is proper. I’m still having trouble with my tenses. It’s a bit challenging for me to write about time travel fics because there’s this troublesome thing that happens where the future becomes the past, the past becomes the present, and in this story, the present vacillates between the now and the nevermore – or limbo, as Harry describes it.
> 
> Also, I have absolutely no idea how people from the 40’s speak – especially British people from the 40’s. I’m adhering to American English, and I’m also unversed with British colloquialisms. *sighs*
> 
> And please tell me I’m not the only aspiring writer out there who wrestles with constructing conversations! T_T
> 
> Anyway. I still have a long way to go, so please continue to bear with me.
> 
> As always, your thoughts and comments will be received with exuberance. See you next time!


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